


I Don't Even Know Where To Begin

by meiloslyther



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: Crack, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meiloslyther/pseuds/meiloslyther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan finds a dog on his front porch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Even Know Where To Begin

**Author's Note:**

> I partially blame [](http://i-love-jersey.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://i-love-jersey.livejournal.com/)**i_love_jersey** for this one. Thankfully, it didn't turn out as disturbing as I thought it might. Enjoy, kids.

Ryan groaned as he woke one winter morning from what was probably the hottest dream about his former lead singer EVER to the sound of rain beating furiously against his bedroom window. He had _plans_ , damnit, and now they were ruined, drenched to the core.

"Great."

Sighing heavily, he hauled himself out of bed, shivering when the cold air hit his bare skin. He hastily pulled on some sweats and trudged out to his kitchen, intent on some hot coffee and a Pop-tart. He got the coffee started and sat down with a Pop-tart in hand, opening it with numb fingers.

After a few minutes, there was a high pitched whine that sounded like it was coming from the front porch. Frowning, Ryan ignored it and it went away. Then it started up again, only this time in short little spurts, each one sounding more and more desperate, hopeless, lost.

Huffing and dropping his half eaten Pop-tart on the table, Ryan moved to look out on the front porch to see if there really was something out there or if he was just going crazy. As it turned out, there was a large, wet dog sitting right outside the door, shaking from the cold, who looked up at Ryan with sad brown eyes when he finally opened the door.

"Oh. Well, what do you want? Shoo."

Ryan waved a dismissive hand at the dog, but it merely sat there looking at him forlornly. The dog thumped its tail against the concrete of the porch once, and Ryan vaguely noticed that the dog's fur was the exact same dark brown, almost black, as Brendon's hair.

"You don't really expect me to let you in, do you?"

The dog's eyes got bigger, and if his eyes weren't deceiving him, Ryan could have sworn that it _pouted_. Seriously? How the fuck does a dog know how to do the Urie pout?

Ryan sighed, too tired and cold to be standing there in the middle of his open front door. "Fine," he muttered, stepping back to let the dog in and, to his surprise, it didn't bound in like he would have expected, but walked in carefully, slowly, like it was afraid or something.

Ryan closed the front door behind it and began backing away slowly. "Okay, you stay there, I'll get a towel." He continued backing up until he hit the hallway, and once again the dog surprised him by actually listening. Nodding at it in affirmation, he went on his way to get a large towel.

The dog was still standing in the same place when Ryan returned, and it seemed as if it felt awkward standing there, like it wasn't sure if it should have been there or not.

"You're alright...," Ryan cooed, kneeling down and finding the dog's face level to his. "It's okay... buddy," he added, discreetly looking to find that it was a male dog as he began to dry him off.

The dog stuck his cold nose to Ryan's cheek once he was dry and Ryan jumped a little before laughing it off, the dog opening his mouth like he was laughing too.

"You're a cute little fella," the guitarist remarked, scratching behind one of the dog's ears, and he responded by leaning into the touch. "Well, okay, maybe not so little," he added, laughing again. The dog was maybe a cross between a Great Dane and a Golden Retriever, with the short fur and body size of a Great Dane, the profile and soft, sad chocolate brown eyes of a Retriever.

The dog seemed to smile, and Ryan had to blink a few times to be sure he wasn't seeing things.

"You need a name," Ryan mused after another moment, noticing that the dog didn't have a collar. The dog cocked his head to one side and Ryan almost freaked out completely; why was this dog constantly making him think of Brendon? Shaking his head, Ryan stood then, taking the towel with him. "Fuck it. I'll just call you Brendon. You keep reminding me of him, it's fitting," he muttered, and Brendon the dog gave one sharp bark, leaving his mouth hanging open afterward in a mimic of a laugh.

Ryan huffed a short, cynical laugh. "Loud mouthed like him too." He then continued on his way to the kitchen, dropping the towel off in the laundry room. His coffee was made by then, so he poured himself a cup and sat down at the table again, picking up his Pop-tart.

The soft clicking of claws on tile followed Ryan, and Brendon butted his head against Ryan's leg once he was seated.

"What, boy?" Ryan inquired tiredly, looking down into pleading puppy eyes. "Hungry?" he specified, and Brendon barked once. "I don't have any dog food. Will you eat a Pop-tart?"

Brendon danced in place a little, his slightly feathery tail wagging hopefully.

Ryan chuckled, unable to help himself. "Here you go," he offered, holding out the other Pop-tart.

Tail swishing through the air even faster, Brendon carefully took the pastry from Ryan's hand with his pointed teeth and promptly dropped to the floor at the guitarist's feet to consume it.

Ryan continued to eat his Pop-tart as he watched Brendon in awe. He was holding the Pop-tart with his large, clumsy paws, taking tiny little bites out of it with the side of his mouth. If Ryan didn't know any better, he would have sworn that this dog was part human. Taking a sip of his coffee, Ryan continued to marvel at the newest addition to his life.

It didn't take long for Ryan to figure out that Brendon, the dog that is, could understand every word he said. Not hard when Brendon would respond to everything with something akin to intelligence.

"What kind of dog food should I get?" Ryan wondered aloud several hours later, making a list for the store. It was still raining, but he _really_ needed food, especially if he was going to take care of this dog.

Brendon whined pitifully, making his ears flop when he shook his head.

Ryan gave the dog a curious look. "What, you don't want dog food?"

Brendon barked.

"Well, then, what are you supposed to eat?"

It seemed like Brendon took a moment to think before he jumped up on his hind legs, his front paws on Ryan's shoulders. He nosed at Ryan's chin, whining softly.

"You want to eat what I eat?" Ryan tried, patting Brendon's side as he steadied the large dog, even though it was almost as if Brendon felt more comfortable on two legs. "I don't know, bud, people food isn't for dogs."

Brendon whined more, continuing to bump his nose against Ryan's chin.

"Alright, alright," the guitarist laughed and Brendon dropped back to the floor, his tail wagging happily. "But if you get sick, it's your fault."

Barking again, Brendon resumed his seat on the floor next to Ryan's feet, and Ryan suddenly realized that the single bark wasn't just Brendon's way of saying 'yes,' but it was his affirmative in general.

"Fuck, you're smart," Ryan marveled, once again getting that nagging feeling that this dog was more than just canine.

Finishing up the list, Ryan went to get dressed, fishing out a proper coat and scarf for the cold, and an umbrella for the rain. He spread an old bed sheet over one side of the living room couch, calling Brendon over when he had it situated.

"Alright, Brendon. If you want to get on the couch, you can sit here," he told him, feeling like a crazy person for talking to a dog like this. It had only been a few hours and it almost felt like Brendon was... well, _his_ Brendon. "You want the TV on, boy?"

Brendon did that excited little happy dance again, his tail thumping against the side of the couch.

"Alright," Ryan agreed, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV, flipping the channel over to Boomerang. Something about the dog's personality made Ryan think he'd like watching the classic cartoons. "Oh, fuck, what if you have to go outside?"

Brendon gently tugged on the edge of Ryan's coat with his teeth before trotting down the hall to the bathroom, stopping in the doorway to look up at the guitarist.

Ryan just gaped at the dog, less surprised at the fact that Brendon knew what he was saying than the connotation of what Brendon was suggesting. "So, let me get this straight; you can use the toilet?"

Brendon barked in affirmation, doing that weird grinning thing again.

Ryan blinked furiously, wiping his face with his hands. "Okay. Okay, this is so fucked up, but whatever. Just... I-I'm gonna go now. I'll be back." He then went to the front door, Brendon following him halfway on his way to the living room.

Ryan stopped at the door and turned, opening his mouth to say something, but refrained, stepping out the door and locking it behind him.

When Ryan returned, laden with crinkling plastic bags and nearly drowned, Brendon was sprawled across the covered side of the couch, snoring softly. Ryan set the bags down in the kitchen and put up his coat and scarf before putting away the groceries. Once everything was in place, Ryan moved into the living room and spread out on the unoccupied half of the couch. He grabbed up the remote, channel surfing for a while until finally stopping on something at least partially interesting, kicking back to watch mindlessly for a while.

It could have been three hours or three minutes later, Ryan wasn't sure anymore, when he felt something warm and heavy rest on his thigh. He looked down to find Brendon's deep brown eyes staring back up at him imploringly, tail thudding softly against the cushions once he realized Ryan was paying attention to him.

The guitarist smiled down at Brendon, petting the top of his head. "Almost as cute as the real Brendon," he admitted quietly, his smile turning bittersweet. "I miss that annoying little fucker."

Brendon nosed his way further into Ryan's lap and Ryan let him, continuing to pet the dog's head as he watched TV for a while longer.

***

Ryan woke the next day to someone licking and then gently tugging on his ear with their teeth. He hummed appreciatively, feeling himself getting hard even through his sleepy daze. Everyone and their mother knew about his thing with his ears, and it didn't really help that he'd been dreaming of Brendon, the real Brendon, all night.

"You know me too well, Urie," he muttered idly, bringing his hand up blindly to where he thought Brendon's shoulder was and finding a lot of short fur under his palm instead.

Ryan freaked a little, suddenly opening his eyes to a large, dark brown dog, not the brunette human he was expecting. He shoved the dog off of him and huddled into himself, drawing his knees to his chest. Despite waking up to a dog looming over him instead of Brendon, Ryan was still half hard, and it was a little unnerving.

"Good... God, Brendon, what the fuck? I mean, I know I named you after him, but that doesn't mean you can do shit like him." Ryan glared at the dog and he whined a little. "Well, not like the real Brendon would have done that to me anyway," he conceded, sighing dejectedly. "Only in my dreams, I suppose. I should have known better."

Brendon whined again and Ryan smiled down at him sadly, petting his head. The guitarist unfolded himself after a moment, feeling a lot less flustered, and got up off of the couch to go take a shower. Brendon followed him to the bathroom door and Ryan turned on him.

"No. You can't come in here with me."

Brendon did that crazy pouting thing again and that... okay, that was creepy and kind of cute at the same time. Creepy because it reminded Ryan of the real Brendon, and cute just because, well, it reminded him of Brendon.

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I am such a sucker," he muttered to himself, letting Brendon into the bathroom with him and shutting the door.

***

"Cool, when did you get a dog, Ry?"

Ryan looked up as Jon stepped into the kitchen, Brendon at his heels. "Yesterday," he muttered, avoiding looking at Brendon. That dog was turning him into a mental case and it had only been _one day_.

"Really?" Jon inquired, sitting across the table from Ryan so that he could easily scratch behind Brendon's ears. "Why didn't you call me? What's his name?"

"I found him on my front porch. I let him in 'cause it was cold and raining."

Jon laughed. "Well, that's new. Never thought of you as the good samaritan type."

Ryan glared at Jon.

"So, what did you name him?"

Ryan glanced at Jon before looking back down at the table. "Brendon."

"You named him _Brendon_?" Jon clarified incredulously, leaning back in his chair all the way. "Jesus, Ry, you've gotta let this go."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Jon leaned over the table then, momentarily forgetting about petting the dog. "I'm talking about Brendon, Ryan, and I don't mean the fucking dog. You're head over heels in love with him."

"I'm not in love with Brendon," Ryan denied, crossing his arms.

"Ever since we left Panic, he's all you ever talk about. You find this dog, and you name it after him. It is so painfully obvious how much you care about him, Ry, it's not even funny anymore." Jon paused to breathe. "I'm actually kind of worried about you, man."

"Alright, so maybe I miss him a little bit, but I'm not in love with him, Jon," Ryan argued. "I'm fine, really. I mean, don't you miss them?"

"Of course, I miss them, just not to the point where they're all I ever talk about all day. You're obsessed, Ryan. It's unhealthy." Jon sighed at Ryan's blank, downturned face, thinking quickly. "Look, maybe you should call them. Maybe get your mind off of it."

Ryan looked back up slowly, considering. "You think so?"

"Definitely," Jon replied with a smile, leaning back and returning to scratching behind Brendon's ears. "They probably miss you too."

Ryan nodded and reached over to pet Brendon as well, the dog's tail thumping against the tile even harder.

***

"Ryan, hey! How are you?"

Ryan chuckled into the phone, petting Brendon absently. It was his third day with the dog, and he'd already started letting him sit in his lap. In all actuality, Ryan was lying on the couch with Brendon completely on top of him as he talked to Spencer, but whatever. So what if he was just a bit of a pushover?

"I'm alright. You?"

"I could be better. Brendon's been off at his parents place all week and he hasn't called me once. I'm getting a little lonely over here, I'm actually really glad you called."

"I did always try to convince you that I was psychic, but you never believed me," Ryan replied with a short laugh, Brendon pressing his nose into Ryan's chest.

"And for good reason," Spencer muttered. "What's been new with you and Jon, then?"

"We finished a few more tracks yesterday." Brendon made a quiet whining noise, snuffling against Ryan's chest. "Oh yeah, and uh, I kinda found a dog."

There was a short pause from Spencer's end of the line. "You _found_ a dog?"

"Yeah, on my front porch. He's really smart and fucking adorable as hell, Spence, you should see him." Brendon barked in agreement and Ryan smiled at him, ruffling his fur. "Yes, you're adorable, aren't you, Brendon?"

"You named him _Brendon_?" Spencer asked suspiciously and Ryan could hear him shaking his head. "You're worse than I thought."

Ryan frowned. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that Jon was right; you're in love with my lead singer."

"Your-?!" Ryan started but cut himself off. Fuck, Spencer had a point. "Fuck off, I'm not in love with him," he muttered instead, petting Brendon for comfort.

"Ryan... everyone knows. You can't deny it. I'm pretty sure even Brendon knows."

Ryan continued to frown. "You don't think I'm in love with Brendon, do you, boy?" he muttered at the dog, who merely stared back at him. "Gee, thanks."

"Look, when I can get a hold of him, I'll tell him to call you, alright? Just fucking tell him and figure something out from there."

Ryan was about to argue when the line cut out. He snapped his phone shut and threw it onto the coffee table, huffing irritably.

Brendon crawled up a little farther to nose at Ryan's cheek, a question in his eyes. Ryan sighed and pressed his lips to Brendon's snout in a chaste display of affection, patting the dog's back.

"Fuck, maybe I am in love with him," Ryan whispered after a long, comfortable silence. Brendon rested his head on Ryan's shoulder, and the guitarist hugged the dog close. "I mean, I dream about him enough. Fuck. What have I gotten myself into?"

Brendon's head lifted and he gave Ryan's cheek a comforting lick before dropping back to his shoulder.

Ryan sighed and buried his face in the fur of Brendon's neck, content to just lie there with his dog.

***

By the fourth night, Ryan was allowing Brendon to sleep in his bed, and by the fifth, he couldn't sleep without him. Brendon was a warm body, and although not human, still a suitable cuddle buddy. Hell, Jon slept with Marley and Dylan and Clover all over him, and the real Brendon was often found with Bogart in his bed with him, so why couldn't Ryan share the experience? After all, Hobo had always slept with him and, in fact, she had always preferred Ryan over Keltie anyway.

It had been a full week after finding the dog that Jon burst into Ryan's house, frantic and worried.

"Brendon's missing," he wheezed, having apparently run from his car and into the living room where Ryan was sprawled across the couch with the dog curled up against his side.

Brendon lifted his head and Ryan made a dismissive noise at Jon, not even looking up from the TV screen. "Jon, Brendon's right here."

Jon slapped Ryan in the back of the head, making the guitarist squawk in pain and turn to look at the elder. "I don't mean your fucking dog, Ryan. I mean the _real_ Brendon. Spencer just called me and said he called Brendon's parents and they haven't seen him since last week."

"I'm sure Brendon's fine, Jon," Ryan answered plainly, rubbing the spot on the back of his head that Jon hit. Brendon barked his assent. "He can take care of himself."

"You're not even worried?"

"Jon, Brendon is nearly twenty-three. I'm fairly certain he can manage. Besides, it's Brendon; what's the worst that could happen to that kid, seriously?" Ryan huffed. Brendon whined, and the guitarist began petting his head.

Jon sobered a bit, sighing dejectedly. "Point. But I mean, Spence sounded pretty worried about it."

"Spence worries about everything. And you know how Brendon is; always off doing something without telling anyone and then only calling once he's back home. He could be under our noses right now."

Brendon dug his snout into Ryan's side and the guitarist smiled down at him, scratching the back of his neck and up behind his ears.

"I suppose you're right," Jon relented, going over to the end of the couch and picking up Ryan's feet, sitting down with the guitarist's feet in his lap.

"Aren't I always?" Ryan shot back, and Brendon snuffled loudly.

Jon stayed silent.

***

It was when he started to confuse the dog with the real Brendon that Ryan just _knew_ he was fucking crazy. At least he was still of sound enough mind to not mention to Jon or Spencer that he thought he was in love with his dog. Which he kept confusing with Brendon, who he was pretty sure he was in love with anyway.

"Fuck, I'm so messed up," Ryan muttered to the dog as they lie in bed one night. "I'm losing my ever loving mind."

Brendon licked the hand that Ryan had draped across his chest, nosing into his palm.

"I love you, okay?" Ryan snapped suddenly, sounding rather defensive, and Brendon twitched a little. "But I mean, like, you as Brendon, not as a dog. Fuck, does that even make any sense?"

Huffing angrily, frustratedly, Ryan rolled over to his other side and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about... this anymore. It was one thing to want your ex-lead singer; it was something completely different to want your dog, not to mention very, very illegal.

"I don't want to fuck my dog," he announced overly loud, curling into himself. "I _don't_ want to fuck my _dog_ ," he repeated, trying to make himself believe it.

Ryan froze when suddenly something warm cupped his upper arm. Something warm and fur free; a hand, a fucking human hand. Ryan could feel his heart stop right there.

"What if I wanted to fuck you?" a familiar voice whispered in Ryan's ear, making his heart leap back to life, beating four times faster than normal.

Ryan looked over his shoulder then to find a certain brunette with soft brown eyes, completely naked.

"Brendon?" Ryan murmured, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. "What are you doing here?"

"I was here the whole time. I was the dog."

"Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?" Ryan whined, curling back into himself pitifully. "Now I'm fucking hallucinating, too."

Grabbing Ryan's face, Brendon made the guitarist look at him, leaning over him slightly. "If you were hallucinating, would this feel so real?" he inquired, not even letting Ryan answer before pressing their lips together.

Ryan hesitated a moment before grasping the back of Brendon's head and pulling him in closer, tighter, deepening the kiss as Brendon's hand wandered down his side to his hip. Brendon brushed his hand across the front of Ryan's boxers, just barely skimming over his half hard cock, and Ryan whimpered into the kiss, high and needy. Brendon was quick to remove the guitarist's boxers, pressing up against Ryan's ass.

Ryan broke the kiss panting, looking up into Brendon's eyes. The singer nodded once, and Ryan leaned over the edge of the bed to grab lube and a condom from a drawer in his nightstand, handing them to Brendon.

The younger man pressed a quick kiss to the elder's cheek as he dropped the condom on the bed, opening the lube to slick his fingers. Ryan sighed when Brendon's fingers probed at his entrance, one finally sinking in. A second was soon to follow, making Ryan whimper as they brushed over his prostate.

"Bren, Bren, please," Ryan groaned, his breath ghosting hotly against Brendon's neck.

"Okay... okay," Brendon soothed, quickly pressing in a third finger for good measure before pulling them all out, picking up the condom and opening it. "Ry," he muttered as he carefully rolled on the condom before adding a layer of lube. "I love you, Ry."

The elder gazed up at Brendon and smiled. "I love you too, B."

They met in the middle for another kiss, lazier this time, as Brendon lined up and pushed in, holding Ryan's leg by the back of his knee. The guitarist gasped and let his head fall back onto his pillow, his hand darting out to grab on to something - Brendon's hip - and fingernails digging into the singer's soft flesh.

"Fuck, come on," Ryan groaned, shifting a little to move his arm behind Brendon so that he wouldn't be twisting so far to kiss him.

Leaning down for another kiss, Brendon picked up a lazy rhythm, biting down on Ryan's bottom lip and tugging lightly. Ryan let his fingers wander up into Brendon's soft hair, humming contentedly. Brendon pushed his head into Ryan's hand and the elder smiled.

"Faster, Bren," Ryan whispered, his hips twitching back against Brendon's slow thrusts.

Brendon pulled out and nudged Ryan over onto his stomach before crawling on top of him and pushing back in, kissing the back of the guitarist's neck. Ryan groaned as Brendon set a faster pace, nibbling up the side of the elder's neck to his ear.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ryan breathed as Brendon licked around the shell of his ear, fingers clenched into the sheets and rolling his hips hard into Brendon's thrusts. "God, Brendon, don't... I'm gonna..."

The singer pulled back for a moment, shifting his weight and consequently his angle before letting his hips snap sharply back against Ryan's ass, making the elder cry out as he slammed into his prostate over and over.

"You have no clue how long I've wanted you," Brendon panted into Ryan's ear. "If I had any idea... God, Ryan, if only I had known..."

"It's not your fault," Ryan managed in between gasps, moaning when Brendon went back to licking his ear. He grabbed the back of Brendon's head, fingers tangling into his hair. "Oh, fuck, Brendon."

"Come on, Ry. Come for me," Brendon muttered as he bit down on Ryan's ear, causing the elder to moan loudly as he tensed and came, shaking apart under the singer's knowing touch. Brendon muffled his own cry against Ryan's shoulder as the guitarist's orgasm sparked his, hips slowly jerking to a stop.

Pulling out, Brendon rolled over onto his back and tugged off the condom before throwing it away. He then dragged Ryan closer and held him tight to his chest. Ryan's breath was almost cool on Brendon's overheated flesh, his long fingers curling around the younger man's ribs.

"So, you were the dog this whole time?" Ryan muttered once he had regained control of his lungs.

"You didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?"

"Did you even try to find out?"

Ryan thought about that a moment. "Was I supposed to?"

"Why not?"

Ryan sighed. "Why were you a dog anyway?"

"Does it matter?"

"Shouldn't it?"

"What if it doesn't?"

Ryan blinked up at Brendon and smiled, snuggling into him closer. "I suppose it doesn't."

"Statement. One, love."

Fighting a laugh, Ryan dug a finger into Brendon's side, making the singer squirm. "I missed you, asshole."

Brendon caught Ryan's hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his palm before laying it over his own heart. "I missed you too, Ryan."

The guitarist smiled and let his eyes fall closed, feeling and hearing Brendon's heart beat in time with his own.


End file.
